


One of These Days

by ceresilupin



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceresilupin/pseuds/ceresilupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of these days, Ivan promises himself, I'm going to do this sober.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of These Days

_One of these days,_ Ivan promises himself, _I'm going to do this sober._

There's something about the way Byerly moves, though, as the room spins, that's incredibly disorienting, almost surreal. Is that Ivan pounding into him, or someone else? He has to pause, catch his breath, and fight off fear. He's sweating.

They could be anyone, really, two other people that Ivan watches through a doorway, a window, a vidplate. The planes of By's back, smooth and white in the half-light, the rain hitting the window, the light flickering through -- unsteady, wavering, bright -- and the water trickling down the smooth, cold glass. Is he him or someone else?

"Ivan?" By says, in a breathy oh-god-why-did-you-stop voice.

"Yeah," Ivan says, and they're them again. He leans forward, brushes his lips over By's ear. The thankful groan this gets him is just shy of blasphemous, and Ivan chokes on a desperate, gasping laugh.

 _One of these days,_ Ivan thinks fleetingly, _I'm going to tell someone about this._

Miles would complain, Aunt Cordelia would analyze and smirk behind her hand. Duv, Komarran-born and liberal, would wrestle briefly with astonishment and then tease. The Koudelka girls would be warm and sympathetic, their parents puzzled but supportive. His mother would flip.

 _Tests._

By really is a slut, and Ivan means that in the best way. Ivan pulls out and flips him over, watches him sprawl on the blue sheets, hard and panting. His dark, hypnotic, Vorrutyer-eyes fall half-open, pinning Ivan with their gaze. "Get back here, Vorpatril," he snaps, between gasps.

 _Gifts._

It would be easiest to reach down, pull him off, finish it fast. Leave before dawn, after the alcohol wears off. But Ivan lowers himself and captures that hot, needy mouth, all too briefly, and then begins working downwards. He can't help but snicker when By starts swearing and hitting his shoulders, calling him a tease, and soon By is laughing, too, and then he's whimpering, 'oh god, oh god,' and coming hard.

Ivan's not fooling himself anymore. _One of these days,_ he thinks, _I'm going to do this sober._

 _And then I'll know._

And then what will he do?


End file.
